Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 106065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
I’d been looking forward to meeting them tomorrow, but now I wondered if I should go at all.
Maybe it was best I left them alone. I saw no point in introducing myself to Archie and Sloan when I had one foot out the door.
Could I even say goodbye to Greer?
The thought made me wanna cry, which was ironic.
I swallowed uncomfortably and took another couple steps forward.
Would Daddy let me find a Sadist out here? I used to have a nonsexual play partner who would administer beatings when I needed an emotional release. Being unable to cry when my body ached for it had given me more anxiety attacks over the years than I could count. Not to mention tension headaches and mood swings. But Daddy was very generous. In the two years we’d dated, he’d let me partake in events where I could get a beating until I was sobbing my eyes out, and he’d introduced me to Keith, a Sadist from another community.
And this summer, he’d moved to San Francisco.
Sway, sway, sway—when I’m feeling blue, I will sway, sway, sway to the music.
If I didn’t find the courage to see Greer in person, I’d have to send him a combination of a thank-you gift and an I’m-sorry gift. I’d already made one, but it wasn’t enough.
He’d kindly agreed to give me nonsexual pain, but that arrangement had gone south faster than I could tear off a T-shirt with an itchy label in the neck lining and set it on fire in a fit of rage.
I’d met up with Greer once. He’d beaten me once in private. Earlier this month. After that…
Gosh.
One thing was clear. Daddy and Greer did not like each other.
It was finally my turn, and I made swift work of my luggage. TSA PreCheck and business class gave me the perk of not having to remove my shoes or take my iPad out of my backpack, so I dumped my bag in one container and my carry-on in a second. I traveled in sweatpants and a hoodie, because life was uncomfortable as it was.
I was through in a minute or two, and I gathered my stuff before I aimed for the KFC Express.
I was hungry.
And no line, for once. Go me.
I pushed pause on the music and cleared my throat. “Hello, yes, I would like to order four drumsticks, original recipe, and one large Mountain Dew, please and thank you.”
I liked fried chicken very, very much. Fried chicken, hot chicken, rotisserie chicken—I was down to clown.
Oh, now I knew what I was having for dinner when I got home.
A little under five hours later, I’d trudged through Costco right before they closed, and I’d snagged the last rotisserie chicken. The walk home from there took about two minutes, and then I went up the elevator to my little one-bedroom.
I’d texted Lane, so I wasn’t surprised to find him outside in the hallway as soon as I dragged my luggage out of the elevator. He lived with his baby sister in a two-bedroom four flights up. It was him, Alva, more reptiles than I could recall, and a bizarre collection of succulents and cacti.
He had specific interests.
“It’s frigid outside,” I complained. Hard to believe it was already November.
“Lemme.” He hurried to meet me and grabbed the chicken and my rollaboard.
Why they had carpet in the hallways was beyond my comprehension. Same with hotels. It was a bitch to roll luggage on.
“Is Alva joining us?” I dug out my keys and unlocked the door.
“No, she’s with a friend.”
Got it.
Ugh, home…sweet home. Well, it was much better than Denver, but… I’d never really made my condo my home. Since I’d met Daddy, I hadn’t spent more than a couple nights a week here. We were always at his place. And I tended to crash at Mom’s more than I should too.
My place was just meh. Pretty empty. I had a bedroom with the bare essentials, and it was similar with my living room. Nothing whatsoever on the walls, not even colorful paint. I had a huge, super-comfy couch and a 70-inch flat-screen. My ever-growing library consisted of stacks of books on the floor.
I hated furniture stores, and whenever I tried to pick something online, my mind spiraled. Would that shelf go with the entertainment center? What if the picture looked nothing like reality? What if I couldn’t assemble it myself? Who would I contact for help? Should I get a better plan for my phone? Had I paid the bills?
Lane got right to it as I went into the kitchen to grab plates, utensils, soda, wet wipes, and a couple bags of chips. The chicken was still hot enough, so I didn’t need to bother with the oven.
“People are demanding more designs,” he said.
“All right.” I supposed I could get a few done next week. “Send me a list.”